The Dissertation Diaries Glitch: A Masterclass in Irony

I am currently in a committed, toxic relationship with my dissertation.

I’ve finished 2 chapters out of 4 of where the “scientific research” lives. You’d think I’m halfway there, but Chapter 3 is basically a digital cemetery where my brain cells go to die.

To write these chapters, I have to digest 20 scientific articles and at least 5 heavy books, which I need to analyse and categorize from my own perspective while strictly maintaining the scientific facts. Reading a novel is a poetic journey; reading a scientific paper is like fingernails on a blackboard (the old ones where teachers used chalk) while someone screams the alphabet in Sumerian.

I don’t just “read” an article. I have to haunt it. I re-read the same paragraph four times until the words lose all meaning and start looking like tiny, judgmental insects. I’m fighting my own mind for custody of a single coherent thought, and honestly? My mind is winning.

I’m a psychologist. I understand how the brain works. And of course, because the universe loves a good joke, I chose to write about the psychopathology of burnout. Why? Because back in 2023, I lived it. I went through a burnout so severe it reshaped my world, and I chose this topic because I wanted to dismantle the monster that tried to undo me.

So here I am, analysing the mechanics of exhaustion while my own nervous system is playing circus music in the background. I’m staring at data about burnout until I’ve practically become the case study again.

I wanted to finish the research part of my paper by now; instead, I’m just waiting for Chapter 3 to apologize for existing.

Whenever I catch myself staring into space, I’m not “reflecting.” I’m just checking if I’ve reached the “depersonalization” stage of my own thesis.